


Trapped

by Saber_Wing



Category: Avengers Assemble (Cartoon), The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Appendicitis, Avengers Family, Chronic Pain, Established Relationship, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mentions of chronic pain, SHIELD Dad and his trash children, SHIELD Dad is best dad, Sick Tony, Superhusbands (Marvel), Suspense, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Vomiting, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-22
Updated: 2019-11-22
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:27:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21525202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saber_Wing/pseuds/Saber_Wing
Summary: Tony is caught between a rock and a hard place, with an unlikely companion.
Relationships: Nick Fury & Tony Stark, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 35
Kudos: 676





	Trapped

Tony Stark was no stranger to pain.

There was a foreign body shoved into the center of his ribcage, for fuck’s sake, and he was aware of it. That constant sense of something not quite… _right,_ radiating from the toxic hunk of metal in his chest. He was aware of it the same way one might be aware of a pair of sunglasses, constantly sliding down their face. Once they were there for a while, you barely noticed them at all.

And sure, Tony _ached._ He woke up in the morning and it hurt, and he went to bed at night, and it still hurt. But that was okay. That pain was a sliding pair of sunglasses. Annoying? Sure. Ever-present? Absolutely. But it was a non-issue. Something he put up with thoughtlessly, because he had to. It existed on the periphery at best, the forefront at worst, but it didn’t matter. It was part of life either way, and he wasn’t ready to die just yet.

So, yes. Tony and pain were on a first name basis. But this was getting _ridiculous._

Tony breathed a sigh of relief, bracing a hand against his abdomen as he leaned against the conference table. His stomach had been bothering him all day, and he was so glad this stupid meeting was over, he could cry. Honestly. The things he did for S.H.I.E.L.D.

There was a slow-burning agony boiling in his stomach. Radiating from the center of his belly downward, and it had recently begun to travel. Migrating over to his right side. He wasn’t that kind of doctor, but any idiot could tell him that wasn’t _good._ He squeezed his eyes shut, curling an arm protectively around his middle.

“Mr. Stark.” Director Fury’s tone was dry as the Sahara, as always, but he sounded almost grateful as he approached Tony from around the conference table, inclining his head. “I almost hate to admit it, but we owe most of our progress to you.”

Tony blinked. Huh. How shockingly candid of him.

“Only for you, Nick.” Tony’s innards felt as if they might fall out the instant he stopped cradling his stomach, but he forced himself to do it, moving to collect his papers from where he’d been sitting at the head of the table. “You know I’d never deny my _favorite_ man in black.”

Fury leveled him with an unimpressed stare.

Tony was just moving to slip the papers into his briefcase, when he jerked the wrong way, promptly dropping the documents he’d gathered all over the floor. His hand shot back to his abdomen before he could stop it, and he bent at the waist, stifling a groan.

The whole thing took barely more than a moment. Tony straightened up again as soon as he could manage it, but Nick’s discerning gaze was boring into him now. The director frowned, gaze burning into Tony just a moment too long.

“Lookin’ a little green around the gills there, Stark.”

Tony waved a hand dismissively. “I had a big breakfast.” 

Nick’s gaze never strayed from Tony’s face. He gestured toward the papers on the floor with a tilt of his head. “If you can bend down to get those without falling flat on your ass, I’ll believe you.”

 _Psh, okay. Fine._ Challenge accepted.

He scoffed, dropped to his knees…

…and damn near _passed out._

Tony couldn’t stifle a groan this time. He caught himself, just barely, bracing his palms against the floor. Stomach aches shouldn’t _hurt_ this bad, right?

Before he could bring himself to budge from his self-imposed fetal position, Fury was crouching in front of him, and there was something…off about his eye. Glimmering with concern so sharp, it made something in Tony go cold. He was too surprised to do anything when the older man reached down, gathering the scattered papers into a pile without a word.

Tony swallowed a whimper, placing both hands on his knees and pushing himself up. His vision went white, but his legs held him somehow. He could feel his hands trembling, legs shaking so violently, his bones practically rattled.

Something was _very_ wrong here.

Fury rose with him. He didn’t move to support Tony. The son-of-a-bitch knew better than that, but he remained close. Close enough to catch him, if he needed to.

He would _need_ to over Tony’s lifeless _corpse_.

The billionaire gritted his teeth, gathering up the rest of his papers and sliding them into the briefcase.

“Well, come on. Let’s go. Chop, chop. Those prototypes aren’t going to inspect themselves.” The last god damned thing Tony wanted to do right now was traipse down the tri-carrier for that inspection he’d promised R&D, but it needed to get done today. His mystery illness could wait another thirty minutes, God damn it.

Fury was not deterred. He stepped in front of Tony. “You wanna take a trip down to medical first, hot shot?”

“Nope. I’m good.” Tony stepped around him, flashing him a smirk that felt forced. There wasn’t a snowball’s chance in _hell_ Fury bought it. Man, he was off his game. 

He picked up the briefcase and turned, moving to saunter towards the door, and _oh,_ the way he’d twisted was a one-way ticket to hell, all on its own. He couldn’t stop the cry tearing from his lips. He doubled over, hand flying up to clutch his right side.

Fury _did_ grab his elbow this time, and honestly, Tony probably would have face-planted if he hadn’t. It was a harmless enough gesture and jerking away from him was a dick move. But the mother and father of all spies seeing Tony unable to God damn _stand up_ on his own was not okay, and he needed to be _away_ from him. Well-intentioned or not.

Despite his bravado, the pain was quickly becoming unmanageable, and Tony was a little freaked out by how fast-moving it was. White-hot. All consuming. A bright spot, radiating outward.

The voice of reason inside Tony’s head, the one that sounded like Steve, told him he should swallow his pride and get this taken care of. He couldn’t even stand up straight without biting back a scream, the pain was so bad. And he was willing to concede that the logical thing to do was to seek a medical professional, like a grown-up. But he didn’t need an _audience._

“You know what?” Tony bit out between clenched teeth, straightening as much as he could manage. “I don’t have to take this.” He didn’t need tall, dark and angry here to babysit him, or worse. Take him to the _doctor_. What was he, _six?_

It was fine. Tony had this.

To the billionaire’s dismay, when he exited the room – one arm still cradling his middle, because he’d _die_ otherwise -- the director followed. They entered the elevator across the hall together. And when Tony pressed the button for the floor he needed, Fury didn’t do the same. He merely stood with his arms crossed. A silent, unwelcome companion, who was apparently, along for the ride.

Yeah, no. _Fuck_ that.

Tony cleared his throat. “Excuse me. Why are you still here? Don’t you have important super-secret spy stuff to do?”

“Nope.” Fury gazed impassively back at him, nonplussed.

“I don’t need your help, Nick,” Tony replied, tone surprisingly light. The elevator doors slid shut. Slowly, they started to move. “Didn’t you hear me?” He made a shooing motion with his hand. “Go on, scram.”

Fury sighed. “Look, Stark. I know your delicate pride may not be able to handle this, but you look like you could be blown over by a stiff wind, and I don’t give a _damn_ what your ego thinks. If you march into this elevator without so much as a by your leave, and get your dumbass killed, I’m the one who’s gonna have to watch your boyfriend sulk his way around my tri-carrier for the rest of my life.”

Tony mulled that over. Made a shrugging motion with his head.

“You know what? That’s fair.” Because it _was_. Steve's puppy dog eyes could depress a golden retriever. Nobody was immune to them. To this day, Tony was convinced the whole mess with Red Skull could have been avoided if Steve just _cried_ at him, at their first meeting. Not even Johann Schmidt was that cold.

And of course, the universe _would_ decide the elevator should grind to a screeching halt, right that very moment, like a bad plot device. The lights flickered, and they stopped moving. 

_Are fucking kidding me?_ Was this a _joke?_

The director reached up to touch his earpiece.

“Agent Hill? Why the hell is my elevator down?” He sounded outraged, and honestly, he should be. Most prestigious intelligence organization in the world – allegedly – and their _elevators_ were breaking down? Tony might have thought it was funny, if it wasn’t so stupid.

They only managed to catch every other word of Hill’s reply. Something about a system malfunction.

“Oh, wait! I’ve seen this before. I know I have. Is this the part where you declare your undying love for me?” Tony laughed, just this side of hysterical. And even that tiny motion made the pain spike. He felt light-headed. Dizzy. “I think I should sit. You wanna sit?”

The look of sharpening concern Fury shot him was almost enough for Tony to straighten back up again.

Almost.

As it was, he slid down the wall, curling both arms around his middle. At this point, it was all he could do not to openly _writhe._ The room was hot, his head was spinning, and the waves of nausea crashing over him were so intense, he was pretty sure he was going to puke all over Fury’s shiny, black combat boots.

Maybe if he just kept still. Didn’t move at _all_ for the foreseeable future. Plenty of people lived perfectly fulfilling lives from a fetal position, Tony was sure. He could do that, if it meant the white-hot agony driving a knife into his side would never get worse.

Then a tickle at the back of his throat forced him to cough, and it got worse.

Tony wanted to _die_.

He failed miserably at the not-screaming part this time, though he did cut it off-halfway through, biting his lip so hard, he felt his teeth pierce flesh.

A presence crouched in front of him. Fury.

Someone had set his stomach on _fire._ His entire torso was a pulsing mass of agony, ebbing and flowing from his lower abdomen. Working its way up, down, around…fuck, _everywhere._ Suddenly, uncontrollably, the nausea overtook him. He barely managed to turn his head before he was retching so hard, he was sure he’d puke up his large intestine.

Tony was sweating. Shaking. There was a hand on his shoulder, steady and warm. He knew it was meant to ground him, but he couldn’t focus on it. Only the pain, hot, fast, and agonizing, stabbing into him like a pickaxe through a rock-face.

When he finally managed to open his eyes, sometime later, the first sight that greeted him was his own vomit. Which, ugh. Gross. He hadn’t managed to eat more than a few bites of breakfast today, but it had never quite settled right. He wasn't surprised to see it making a reappearance.

Fury was saying something. Tony couldn't catch what, but the man’s tone was so… _off_ , it grabbed his attention. He shook his head, blinking the static away.

“What?” Tony rasped.

“ _Where_ is the pain?” Fury’s grip tightened on his shoulder. “Where did it start, and where is it now?”

“Um…” Tony tried to think. Struggled to fight his way through the haze. “M-My side. I think? It’s hard to tell, I…thought I had a stomachache. It was more centered before, but now it’s my side.”

“ _Which_ side?” Fury stared him down. With one eye, if that was even possible. 

“My…” Tony had to force himself to concentrate. “…right?”

Fury’s expression didn’t outwardly change, but his complexion was ashen when he slapped at his earpiece again, voice clipped with tension. “Hill, where are we on the elevator repairs?”

 _“We’re not sure yet, Sir.”_ Their connection was significantly improved. Not that the woman on the other end had anything _useful_ to tell them. _“Still diagnosing. I’ve got our technical team working on it.”_

“Tell them to work faster. I need medical in here yesterday.”

The director’s lips were a thin, tight line when he turned his attention back to Tony. There was more than passing concern there now.

He was _worried._

“What?” Tony’s voice came out thin, smaller than he’d meant it to. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Fury’s face closed off. His expression was grim.

Tony gritted his teeth as another wave shook him. He clutched at his stomach. _Fuck,_ it hurt. There was a bomb in his gut. Pulsing in his abdomen. Tearing its way out, like that monster from _Alien_. What the hell was _on_ the right side of his body, that felt like it was gonna -

Tony froze. Double checked his anatomy knowledge. Checked it again.

Oh.

…Oh, no.

Oh, no, no, _no._

“You’re kidding.” His breathing sped up. “This is unbelievable _.”_

“Stark- “

“Appendicitis,” he rasped, a short laugh escaping his lips. “In a stalled elevator…”

“Stark!”

“…on a tri-carrier. Most technological piece of machinery outside of my armory on the god damned _planet,_ and- “

“Tony!”

Fury never used his first name. _Certainly_ not by itself, or without a careful measure of disdain, and it stopped Tony's downward spiral dead in its tracks. He stared.

Fury took him by both shoulders. The director’s gaze was tense, but firm. Steady in its conviction. “I need you to focus.”

Tony was out of his mind with terror, blinded by pain, but the words slipped out anyway. To be contrary, if nothing else. “Don’t tell me what to do."

"That's it." The director's lips twitched. Not quite a smile, and grimmer for it. "Yell at me. Sing the God damned national anthem, I don't give a damn. Just stay awake, you hear me, Stark?"

“Aw, Nick.” Tony chuckled humorlessly, cutting himself off with a wince. He swallowed down a mouthful of bile, curling up against another wave of torment. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“This is as much for me as it is for you. Cap’s the most pathetic sulker I’ve ever met.” Fury’s tone was dry, but it lacked bite, and Tony knew the other man was humoring him. Surprisingly enough, he really appreciated that.

If he got out of this alive, he’d send him a fruit basket, or something.

Fury’s com crackled to life.

 _“We found the problem, Sir. I can have that elevator up and running in ten minutes, tops.”_ This voice was male. Unfamiliar. Young, judging from the cadence.

“Not good enough,” Fury fired back, without missing a beat. “How far are we from the next floor?”

A pause. _“Sir?”_

“Did I stutter, agent?”

Another pause. Longer this time.

_“Far enough. We can see the elevator, but we can’t reach the doors. We’d have to climb the shaft to even have a chance, and to pry them open at that angle…”_

There was a rustling noise in the background. Another voice came on the com. Warm. Strong. Beloved. Tony smiled.

 _“I can do it,”_ Steve Rogers replied. _“Think I can pull you close enough to pry the doors open. What’s the situation in there?”_

“Stark’s in a bad way. I need him out of here and in medical, _now_. _”_

Steve’s tone remained steady – a little too steady. His words were so firm, they were almost brittle. Anyone who didn’t know his good captain wouldn’t be able to tell the difference, but _Tony_ knew. He was scared.

_“Tony?”_

“Hey, babe,” Tony rasped, pained. “Think we can get an extract? I don’t…feel so good…”

That, as Steve well-knew, was Tony speak for ‘ _I might actually be dying.’_

He didn’t need to be told twice.

Tony gritted his teeth. He was bent almost entirely in half, now. Shaking with agony.

Then suddenly, he…wasn’t.

Something shifted. A burst. An odd sensation, trickling from his gut. Tony lifted his head, blinking dazedly.

_…uh-oh._

“Uh…Nick?” Tony could hear his own voice, surprising matter of fact, considering the circumstances. “Think I’m clocking out, here.”

“ _Oh,_ no you don’t. Look at me.” Nick Fury gripped Tony’s chin in his hand. “Eyes on me, you stubborn son-of-a-bitch.” He almost sounded _upset,_ and that was an interesting thought Tony would revisit later.

If he wasn’t, you know, _dead._

“I can’t feel it anymore.” Tony heard his own voice as if through a filter, surprisingly calm. He didn’t think he should be _calm_. “That’s bad, right?”

Then it came back with a vengeance, and pain was all he knew.

Every sharp object known to man was grinding into his side. Prying him open, with a crowbar. Whoever or whatever it was, they _hated_ Tony. They had a pickaxe. A blowtorch. Half a dozen lances. Enough swords to supply a medieval army. They had fire, and steel, and they wanted to see Tony writhe. Wanted to see him burn, until he was nothing but a smoldering, shivering pile of ash.

He curled into himself, head pressed against his knees. The fetal position was back, and he lived there now.

He could hear screeching metal. Or maybe Tony was screaming.

His ears were ringing. Eyes squeezed so tightly shut, he could see splashes of color behind the closed lids. There were words floating around him. Trying to get inside his head. He couldn’t retain any of them, but their cadence was warm. Soothing. And that was something, even if it was barely anything at all.

He bit his tongue. Tasted blood.

Something touched his shoulder, and Tony lunged for it. Desperate for comfort. There was leather beneath his fingers, and the scraps of sanity he clung to told him that was bad. Safety was cotton, and warmth, and _Steve_. It was his family, piled around him on the couch, on a cold winter day.

This wasn’t _that,_ but it didn’t push him away. The leather wrapped an arm around Tony’s shoulders. Kept him from drifting into whatever deep, dark abyss this was. And he let it hold onto him, because he wanted an anchor, and this was all he had.

Later, Tony wouldn’t be able to recall the order of events in any sort of detail that made sense. He’d remember soft touches. Warm words. Steve’s face, hovering before him. His arms, holding him close. He was moving, and not moving. World swimming in and out of focus. Riding the current of overwhelming pain.

At some point he checked out completely, and when Tony came to next, he was groggy, drugged to the gills, and laying – floating – on a hospital bed.

Steve sat beside him, holding his hand.

“We’ve gotta stop meeting like this, tough guy.” The super-soldier smiled, kissing him softly. He looked tired – just this side of haggard. And Tony was sorry. He was always making him look like that. Privately, Tony didn’t think he was worth the trouble, but he knew better than to say that out loud. It made Steve sad when he said those things. Even if Tony only meant them sometimes. It was a work in progress.

Tony’s eyelids were drooping shut. He wanted to go back to sleep, but something had happened. Something important. Something that landed him in this hospital bed, but he couldn’t remember what. He _thought_ he should remember what.

Wasn’t Fury here before?

And had Tony lost his mind, or did he not completely hate that?

Tony blinked his eyelids open as best he could, gaze tracking sluggishly around the room.

“Hey.” Tony tugged on Steve’s hand. “Hey, where’d he go?”

Steve cocked his head. He smoothed Tony’s hair back. “Who, honey?”

“What…” His tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth. Tony coughed, accepting the bendy straw that Steve offered gratefully. He sipped at the water until his boyfriend pulled it away, then tried again, clearing his throat. “Wha’ happn’d?

Tony knew he was slurring, and something happened to Steve’s expression. The same soft something people’s faces did when they saw a cute puppy, or a kitten trying to climb. Tony thought he might complain about that normally, but he was drugged. He wasn’t so far gone he didn’t recognize that.

“You got trapped in an elevator with Fury, sweetheart, remember? Your appendix burst. We got you out and to the med bay just in time.”

“Oh,” he mumbled, blinking his eyes back open when they slid shut for a second or two. Tony did the mental equivalent of a nod inside his head. He wasn’t sure it translated into real life. “Oh, yeah. _”_

Steve chuckled. He threaded their fingers together. “Well, that’s all over now. You feelin’ okay? They gave you the good drugs.”

“Th’ good drugs,” Tony parroted, _actually_ nodding his head this time. “Where’s Nick?”

Steve blinked. “Director Fury?”

“Yeah. Go get ‘im.” Tony waved a hand toward the door. “Go get ‘im, I want him.”

Steve’s lips twitched – bemused – but he nodded obligingly, kissing Tony’s knuckles with good humor. “Okay. I’ll be right back.”

Tony nodded, motioning him away – go on, shoo. If Steve said he’d be back, then he would. No question about it. He’d just…rest his eyes in the meantime. Just a little bit. Sure enough, the super-soldier was entering the room again with Fury in tow in what felt like seconds but was probably minutes. God, he was tired.

“C’mere.” Tony motioned Nick closer with another vague hand wave. “C’mere, I got a…question f'r you.”

To Tony's surprise, Fury wordlessly obliged him. He moved closer.

Tony cocked his head. Studied him for a long moment before nodding, decisively. “D’you like fruit?”

Fury blinked once. He shook his head. “What?”

“N’vermind.” God _damn_ it, he was tired. “I’ll figure it out.”

Tony couldn’t remember everything just yet, but he knew he’d been sick. He’d been sick, and scared, with no one for company but Nicholas J. Goddamned Fury. And that was supposed to be bad. But somehow, it wasn’t. And he owed him for that.

Tony was having trouble focusing his eyes. A _lot_ of trouble, but he _made_ them do it anyway. Because he’d thought he _hated_ Nick Fury. He hated being wrong even more. But Tony was trying to be better about admitting it when he was.

“Thank you.” Tony held Fury’s gaze, because that was important.

Fury didn’t smile. Not exactly. But something within his expression softened.

“You’re welcome.”

They’d never be best friends, but Tony thought they understood each other now. And a few weeks later, when Clint came back to the tower from S.H.I.E.L.D. HQ, spinning stories of half a dozen fruit baskets arriving at Nick Fury’s office door, Tony snickered.

Apparently, no one had _ever_ heard the director laugh so hard. Before, or since.

**Author's Note:**

> I finally got to use the appendicitis trope, and I'm not even a little sorry.


End file.
